Whitlock pulled Garima close to her, the instant the door to her quarters had closed. She hurriedly fumbled at his belt buckle, as he kissed her neck and shoulders. They shuffled their way to the bedroom, trailing clothing behind them.

There were no words between them. Garima had already begun sweating with exertion, gently resisting Whitlock's considerable strength as she tried to draw him closer, immediately, as they lay on her bed. He had resolved to take enough time to finish taking off his shirt. No teasing, no games. There was no time.

She shuddered as he entered her, her eyes closing tightly, her back arching. Garima's breath caught, at the sensation of her tightness around him, and at the death grip she had on his arms, the pain already becoming indistinguishable from the pleasure she offered. She urged him on silently, pulling his entire body deeper against her, in a frantic, frenzied rhythm. Both were barely cognizant of the nightstand toppling over and spilling its contents onto the ground, pills spilling out from an open bottle and a glass of water shattering onto the tile floor.

Their hands entwined, fingers locked between them, holding on tightly as though they were both trying to pull each other up over a ledge. Each movement made them gasp in unison, breathing like sprinters. Garima's face was bright with a sheen of sweat; Whitlock's pale skin now flushed to a shade almost crimson across her cheeks.

They had started quickly, and they ran their course with lightning speed, Whitlock's lips parting, a deep, almost guttural moan coming from down in her chest as Garima came inside her, the mission ahead driving all sense of consequence into nothingness. For an instant, nothing more existed than a bottomless, blooming feeling of light that both felt with no way to express. She thought it would burn her, annihilate her utterly in blissful agony as her eyes rolled back, the feeling translated imperfectly into ragged shouts and exclamations with something resembling her voice. All existence before that instant was forgotten, driven away by the power of their bodies, twined together, inseparable.

They remained in each other's embrace. Ten seconds, twenty seconds. Thirty seconds before their eyes met, for the first time since they had made it to the bed. The universe was returning now, refusing to be held at bay any longer, placing them back in their identities, leaving them once more with their memories and their expectations.

The weight returned. The future remained. Sarah Whitlock pressed her face deep into Jonathan Garima's chest, and began to weep, inconsolably. Garima folded his arms around her. If there were words, he didn't have any.